


White Light, White Heat

by codswallop



Series: Wolves of Oxford [2]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Shippy, Psychic Wolves, Wolves Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5905090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morse's wolfsister goes into heat while Morse and Thursday are alone together on a stakeout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dubious consent issues inherent in the mating/heat cycle trope; please take heed. 
> 
> Despite what it sounds like, this is pretty light on the porn, heavy on the hurt/comfort, and not what I would call a Morse/Thursday shipfic.
> 
> Thanks to ariandes_string for beta reading. <3

By the time Thursday noticed what was happening, it was far too late. And even after he’d noticed, he refused to believe what his wolfbrother and his own horrified senses were telling him, not for the longest time. Eventually, unwillingly, he turned away from the window and looked carefully over at Morse.

Morse was thoroughly absorbed in the wireless equipment, scowling and cursing under his breath at it as his hands worked busily at the wires and dials, adjusting, tweaking, fiddling. Lost in the mechanics of it, he didn’t look back at Thursday; it was clear he’d forgotten he was even in the room.

 _You’re wrong,_ Thursday told Ares crossly, and Ares whuffed back at him in the lupine equivalent of an annoying teenaged eyeroll and trotted over to nudge Sieglinde in the flank with his nose. Morse’s sister (he could see her out the window, there was no disguising that pale fur) turned on Ares with a snarl, snapped her jaws in his face, and pranced skittishly away, tail high--no disguising that gait, either.

Morse glanced up without really looking, his scowl deepening, obviously shushing her with a dismissive word or two, then turned his glare immediately back down to the wireless dials and wires, tweaking them back and forth, listening intently at one of the headphones, slamming it down impatiently and then tweaking again.

His hands on the wires were trembling, Thursday noticed, and there were beads of perspiration forming on his brow. Morse swiped awkwardly and ineffectually at them with his wrist without moving his hands away from his work.

Outside, Sieglinde growled when Ares approached her again and then gave a low warbling whine. Morse’s focus broke at last. “Shhhh!” he said to her, right out loud this time. “What are they _doing_ out there? They’ll spoil the whole damned thing.”

He’d been tetchy and fidgety all day--more so than usual--and his share of the sandwiches Win had packed for them remained untouched. Thursday’s stomach sank and then swooped, and he shut his eyes for a moment. It didn’t help; he could see Sieglinde through his brother’s eyes all the clearer, and her maddening skittish sideways dance.

“Morse,” Thursday said.

Morse went automatically still and attentive at his tone of voice, which was mildly gratifying to see, but his expression remained blankly irritated. “What?” 

Thursday sighed. He walked over, the long way round so he wouldn’t have to brush past him, and switched off the wireless.

“What’d you do that for?” Morse demanded.

“The stakeout’s over.” Thursday indicated the window, and the wolves outside it, with a slight lift of his chin. 

“ _What?_ Why? You can’t… Why?” Sieglinde broke into a full, baying howl and then tore away down the lane toward the river; Ares echoed and gave chase. There was a flurry of motion behind the shades in the window opposite. “Oh, what in the hell!” Morse cried out. “Have they gone mad? Fuck!” He kicked the table the wireless setup was sitting on and then threw himself down in one of the straight-backed chairs, clutching his head.

Thursday waited. If he were younger, vainer, if he’d known Morse less well, he’d have suspected him of being disingenuous. It hardly seemed plausible that he still had no clue what was going on here--but as keen, as uncannily keen as Morse was in some areas, Thursday knew too well that he was still capable of being shockingly obtuse at times.

“We’ll give it another go,” Thursday said. “In a few days. I should phone the department,” he added, but he didn’t move.

Morse stared up at him, still furiously uncomprehending. “They’re on the alert now, they’ll have-- A few _days_? I don’t…”

Impossible to look at him and watch it dawn. Thursday turned back to the window. Ares, at any rate, was joyfully focussed on his pursuit, and confident that he could outpace the younger, fitter, but much smaller Sieglinde, with her inferior knowledge of Oxford’s geography. They were nearly to the river already. Thursday wouldn’t have thought it of him, an old Army wolf--when had his last time been? A decade and more. 

“Oh,” Morse said. “Oh, god. Oh no.”

“We should have discussed this long before now,” Thursday heard himself say. “I’m sorry. It honestly didn’t occur to me--she’s not on one of the new suppressants, then?” (Why, he wanted to shout, why wasn’t she on one of the new suppressants? Police wolves came to them through military excess; they weren’t breeders.)

“They...made her groggy, dulled her senses,” Morse said, sounding rather dulled and groggy himself. “I meant to ask someone if there was anything else-- But then I thought maybe she wouldn’t, ever; she’s so small, and the others had already, ages ago, she’s...she’s three this month, you know.”

It took a few moments for this to register fully. “Good lord, you don’t mean to say it’s her first _time_?” Thursday burst out, turning to stare at him.

Morse glanced up at him, shrugged, and gave a short, embarrassed laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. His face and neck looked flushed, and he reached to loosen his tie with hands that shook. Thursday felt his stomach swoop and lurch again. Of course it had occurred to him. Of course it had. You didn’t take on a constable with a bonded wolfsister and not think about it, just as you couldn’t un-hear all the crude jokes you’d reprimanded your sergeant over; you just pretended it didn’t matter, that was all.

“Nothing has to happen,” Thursday said quickly. “I’ll get on the phone, someone on patrol tonight can come pick you up and help you track her down, sequester her.”

“Is that…” Morse swallowed. “Is that what you want?”

Thursday was at a loss for how to answer this. Be careful, he advised himself. Be very, very careful. “Of course not,” he said kindly. He had the impulse to reach over and give Morse a fond shake, the sort of thing he did every day, probably, but he couldn’t help second-guessing his impulses at the moment. He managed to refrain. “It could get, well, complicated, though, you know,” he offered.

“I mean,” Morse said, blushing still more furiously down at the tabletop, picking at one of the loose wires. “I know you don’t--that you aren’t, you wouldn’t...you know? So it might be all right. If you don’t mind.”

“I see,” Thursday said, not seeing at all. It occurred to him belatedly that anything he might have thought about with regards to this scenario, Morse must have gone over in his mind tenfold, a hundredfold, not only because of the way his brain functioned but because in his position it would be a necessity. 

It had all been so much simpler in the Army, he thought wistfully. Doing one’s duty, no choice involved.

“O-o-or not,” Morse stammered, red almost to the roots of his hair now. “Of course, if you don’t, that’s, that’s _fine_ , no need to say a word, we’ll just--”

No choice involved here either, Thursday saw at once. Not one that bore thinking about. “Now hang on,” he said. “I’m only surprised, is all. And, honestly, immensely flattered that you’d even consider it.” He did reach out, then, to give Morse’s bony shoulder a shake--and Morse went wide-eyed and sucked in a sharp breath. Thursday shut his eyes again. The contact completed the circuit between them and the running wolves, and it was as if Morse’s body were an antenna transmitting his sister’s fierce and angry need.

 _”Sir,”_ Morse said urgently, and Thursday had his face cupped in his hands and was leaning over to kiss him, deep and raw and hungry, before he’d given himself leave to do anything of the sort.

Morse made a weak high-pitched sound in his throat, and Thursday somehow found the will to break the kiss and pull back as far as he was able to make himself--not far. He more than half expected Morse to wrench away the moment he was released and propel himself backward across the room as far as he could go, but Morse remained where he was, panting, eyes shut and chin tipped up in surrender. The wolves continued to race. Sieglinde had dashed down an unexpected side lane and gained a bit of ground, but she was tiring, Ares thought, and they were headed toward a bend of the river where there was nowhere much to go. He’d have her soon enough.

“Are you sure about this?” Thursday forced himself to drop his hands and back away another step. He didn’t want Morse’s reply to be any more clouded by wolf-feelings than he could help. 

Morse swallowed visibly and blinked his eyes open. He looked panicked for a moment, as if he’d only just remembered where he was and who he was with, and Thursday wasn’t sure if the crushing feeling in his own chest was relief or disappointment, but-- “Quite sure,” Morse said finally, meeting Thursday’s gaze, direct and clear. “If you are. That is.” He cleared his throat. “I’m, I’m not afraid,” he added, almost belligerently.

Thursday’s first thought was that he was lying--the throat-clearing was his worst tell, as always. His second thought was a rather offended _No? You should be,_ but then he scolded himself for being ridiculous. Ares was getting to be an old wolf, and so was he, probably; the fight hadn’t died out of either of them yet, but they’d both lost a bit of their bite over the years. 

“I’ll pour us a drink, then,” Thursday said, pulling out his hip flask, and Morse nodded gratefully.

*

Mating his rawboned young bagman would have rated fairly low on Thursday’s list of life experiences he’d hoped to enjoy, and presumably the sentiment was mutual. He respected the lad’s intellect, held him in high esteem, was even fond of him in his way, but he’d sooner lie down with an electrical cable. The overpowering desires of their wolves would cast a forgiving haze over the proceedings, but even so, they were most likely in for an awkward and messy night.

The flat in which they’d been surveilling was borrowed from a bachelor constable by the name of Davis who’d volunteered it willingly enough (poor sod, Thursday thought), and Thursday did a bit of reconnaissance after swallowing his share of the whisky. Double bed, thank Christ. He stripped off the spread and blanket and laid down a double layer of the oldest-looking towels he was able to locate in the back of the linen cupboard, then went to rummage through the kitchen. Salad cream? Please, no. Margarine? Unpleasant, but possible. 

“What are you doing?” Morse sounded cross again. He stood at the window like a ramrod, staring out as if he could somehow see their wolves’ pursuit, though they had to be at least a mile away. “You can’t possibly be hungry right n- ...Oh.” He had turned to find Thursday dubiously considering an open packet of Cookeen that he’d found at the very back of the fridge. “Oh, god.” He looked so stricken that Thursday put it back hastily. “No, sorry, that’s, well, better than nothing, I suppose. I’ll check the toilet, though, in case there’s anything, er…”

He backed awkwardly out of the room, and Thursday sat down heavily in a chair, feeling ridiculous. Surely they weren’t really going to do this. When Morse reappeared, he’d tell him it was all off--too late for anyone to apprehend Sieglinde, probably, and he wouldn’t torment his brother that way in any case, but--

“Brylcreem,” Morse announced from the doorway, with a triumphant and only slightly wavering smile. “Much better, I’d say. Are you all right? Second thoughts?”

“More like twenty-second.” Thursday got to his feet. “Morse, listen. I can still leave now. It’ll be difficult, but I can send someone over to look after you--you shouldn’t be on your own when she’s...well. Might be best if I go, and quickly, so I can get far enough away before Ares...”

“I’ve said I’m sure,” Morse reminded him. “If I must do this for the first time, I’d prefer it to be you. And he’s...he’s nearly caught up to her. I think.” 

Ares thought so, too. The flash of uplifted white tail was very close, inevitably close; he was already baying in triumph. Still Thursday hesitated, until Morse nodded once crisply and turned away, leading the way to the bedroom, and he had no choice but to stumble after him.

“You haven’t been with a man before,” Thursday stated, and Morse flushed bright red again.

“No. Only girls.”

“But you know--”

“Oh, yes. There’s the training manual, of course. And...you hear all about it, when you’re a new recruit with a bonded sister. Obviously. And there was, there was a, a medical exam, when I joined up, with a doctor who wanted to make it very clear to me what I was in for.” He cleared his throat again. “Graphically clear, in fact.”

Thursday winced. “That sounds unpleasant. I’m sorry.”

Morse gave half a laugh. “It is what it is.” He looked down, shrugged, and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You won’t hurt me any more than necessary, I know.” 

It was so hard to think his own thoughts, with Ares so close to her now that he could nearly nip at that infuriating white tail--he actually snapped and caught a mouthful of fur, but it was whisked away from him with redoubled speed. Thursday’s vision was going red at the edges. He wanted to put a fist through the wall, he wanted his hands round the throats of the graphically clear doctor and every sick bastard who’d told Morse a story. He wanted to say that he wouldn’t hurt him _at all_ , not if he could help it--but he couldn’t help it, likely. 

He could still, at least, stop Morse’s shaking fingers on his buttons with his own hand, gently, and say, “People do talk rot. It’s not as bad as all that.”

“How would you know?” Morse asked, not in an accusing way, exactly, but wry. And then he gasped, leaning into Thursday’s hand on his chest for a moment before shying away; Sieglinde was down, rolling over and then leaping back up to face her adversary, teeth bared, not ready to give up without a fight.

 _Give her space,_ Thursday told Ares quickly. _It’s her first time. She’s terrified._ Ares took a reluctant, hesitant step back, and the white wolf lunged and bit.

 _She’s dangerous_ , Ares countered, circling her, low and snarling.

 _You’re twice her size. Stay back,_ Thursday ordered. _Don’t let her bite you, but quit snarling. She’ll come round._ “Reassure her,” he told Morse. “Tell her he’s not going to attack her, it’s fine, tell her it’s fine.” He put a hand on the back of Morse’s neck, trying to convey it through him without words. The lad went absolutely rigid, staring through him in glassy incomprehension, and Thursday realised the terror was at least half Morse’s, that he and his sister were feeding it to each other in an endless and escalating loop.

There were first matings that went horribly wrong, that was true enough. Thursday wasn’t going to allow this to be one of those. An old wolf was good for some things, after all. 

“Keep her calm,” he said, and his hand moved round to cup Morse’s jaw lightly. “That’s your job, right now.”

“I can’t--”

“You can. Follow my lead.” And he kissed Morse for the second time, a careful brush against his lips, swallowing down his own urge to bite and take. Hand on Morse’s lower back, no pressure, just warmth. Morse didn’t exactly melt into it, but he was taking shuddery deep breaths now, forcing himself to relax a bit. Sieglinde whined uncertainly and went into a crouch, allowing Ares to come close enough to nuzzle at her. “That’s it,” Thursday murmured, and felt Morse shudder as a bright white bolt of need sliced through them both, breaking through the fear-circuit.

*

The worst of it, Thursday thought at first, was having to hold himself so ferociously in check. Ares had at last managed to mount Sieglinde without having to break her neck, and he himself was in the process of breaching, holding Morse steady so he didn’t thrash himself to pieces. What he wanted to do, naturally, was to slam a hand over Morse’s mouth, bite down on the back of his neck, and give it to him hard and fast. Teach the know-it-all pup a lesson or two, twice over and then again, again, again. He so easily could have. 

With the vestiges of his own human consciousness, though, he imagined in a flash what might have happened if it had been someone else’s brother put to Sieglinde--Jakes’, perhaps, or any of the other arrogant young sergeants who liked to roll their eyes and mutter to each other whenever Morse spoke. The molten feelings coursing through Thursday turned to protective rage in an instant.

“There, now,” he said, stroking a hand down Morse’s quaking side as he eased himself in. “Still. Still. It’ll only be bad for a moment. Hold steady; I won’t move till you give the word.”

The first time was over relatively quickly, and even so it took its toll. Morse lay wrecked and limp while Thursday got up to fetch them both some water. He moved only to shake his head at the offered glass, but Thursday insisted. “You’ll need it.”

Morse sat up and drained the glass rather than argue, then collapsed again, turning away onto his side. “How many times will they...how many times, do you suppose?”

Thursday had no idea. He’d often used to lose count, in his and Ares’ hot-blooded young Army days, but he wasn’t about to tell Morse that. “Three or four, perhaps. Was it as horrible as you expected, then?”

“No,” Morse said, after a painfully long pause. “Different,” he added thoughtfully. “ _She_ enjoyed it so much--I didn’t expect that.”

“Hmm,” Thursday said neutrally, and lay down on the right side of the bed, keeping his distance. Morse wasn’t like anyone he’d ever done this with before, not remotely--or was it only that he knew Morse better? No. It was Morse. Thursday glanced over at the tense, knobbed line of his bagman’s backbone and sighed. The wolves were curled around each other in a warmly panting heap, for now; he ought to catch a rest as well, while he could.

*

There were four times in all. The second was frantic, a half-asleep lust dream--Morse begging, cursing, Thursday just managing once again to keep from setting his teeth into his throat and hammering at him till he sobbed. 

“I said _more_ , I said _harder_ \--didn’t you hear?” Morse snapped, after he’d spent, still writhing beneath him with frustration. “I can tell you’re holding back. Just...do as you like and get it over with!” His eyes were aglow with heat-madness. 

“We’ve a long night still to go,” Thursday told him mildly. “And you don’t want to finish it in casualty getting stitched up.” Ares had his jaws around Sieglinde’s scruff and was pinning her easily to the ground with his weight, giving her a firm shake whenever she let out a whine; Thursday quite envied him. 

*

The third time took ages, and Morse did sob at the last--whether from pain, frustration, or the humiliated relief when Thursday finally brought him off by hand, he couldn’t have said, and couldn’t find the words to ask.

*

By the fourth time, the sky was beginning to pale, and Thursday moved inside him quickly, getting it over with quickly, sensing that this was the end of it. There was enough light, in the end, for him to see the wet trail from the corner of Morse’s left eye down to his jawline, and he licked it away, too tired to stop himself, then kissed him there at his temple, several times in succession. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“No--” Morse protested, but that was all he managed before falling limp again, and Thursday kissed him once more as he softened and slipped out of him for the last time. Over. It was over.

Every muscle in Thursday’s body was clamouring for collapse, but first he made himself switch on the light and check Morse over, so far as he was able. No bite marks, no blood, and he didn’t flinch anywhere Thursday touched him--perhaps only his dignity would have taken a beating, then, and there was nothing to be done about that now. 

Across the city in a clearing on the riverbank, Ares was licking and nuzzling over Morse’s exhausted sister, not to be outdone, but with considerably more satisfaction. _You must be very pleased with yourself,_ Thursday told him, and Ares answered back that he was, rather. _You could have warned me a bit sooner,_ Thursday scolded him.

 _You’d have stopped us then,_ Ares pointed out.

_Too right, you devil._

Would he have, though? Surely he would. The fierce tenderness he felt when he looked down at the sleeping form beside him was all Ares', he was certain. No matter; it was done.

*

It was past noon when Morse emerged from the bedroom, squinting and wild-haired, partially wrapped in a bedsheet and moving slowly and carefully. Thursday--already showered, dressed, and sipping tea--was making a very terse, very partial report over the telephone to Bright. “Went into full heat, yes,” he said. “The surveillance operation was terminated at approximately twenty-one fifteen. Yes. No advance warning, no. Her first heat, sir. Yes. Yes. I don’t know, sir. No, I shouldn’t think so. Yes, he’s here. I”ll ask.” He tucked the receiver down a bit. “Morse, do you require medical attention?” 

Morse waved an irritated hand and shook his head.

“A bit more verbal?” Thursday suggested, and Morse made an exasperated sound.

“No, I do not require medical attention,” he enunciated in the direction of the phone, and sank gingerly into a chair.

 _Sir_ , Thursday mouthed at him, but Morse either didn’t catch it or pretended not to.

“Did you hear that?” Thursday asked Bright, and pushed a mug of builder’s across the table in Morse’s direction. “Good. Yes, of course, I’ll submit the full report by tomorrow. We will, of course, as soon as they recover a bit. All right. No, I know. No, sir. Very well, then. Good afternoon.” He clicked off. “And a good afternoon to you, Detective Constable,” he added.

Morse nodded once and directed his attention to his tea. You could hardly blame him, Thursday decided. Still, there was the next five minutes to get through somehow. “You’re to report with your sister to the veterinary officer as soon as possible,” he informed Morse, getting up to pour himself another mug. “Tomorrow, or the day after. Bright is more excited about the possibility of getting Ares’ pups than he is irritated with either of us, I’d say. I’ll tidy up around here and take the washing home with me. And I’ll, er, pick up another bottle of Brylcreem for Constable Davis, as well.” 

Morse merely nodded again. Too soon to joke, of course. It didn’t bode well, though. 

“Well, then,” Thursday said. “I don’t expect you’ve an appetite yet, but when you do, you’ll want to keep it simple for the first day or two. Don’t worry about Sieglinde. She’ll sleep away the day, and Ares won’t leave her till she runs him off. Do you...is there anything you need?”

“Is that the way it always is?” Morse asked simply, looking up at him.

Thursday hadn’t a clue what to say to that. 

“You were very kind to me,” Morse clarified. “Even in the midst of it. Thank you. It wasn’t at all...what I’d been led to expect. I just wondered if it was usual.”

It was Thursday’s turn to pay close attention to his tea. “Not very usual, I suppose,” he admitted. “Other times, it’s been...chaps I didn’t know well, or--” Or did know well, and knew they could take it. Or knew them and detested them. Or never much thought about them at all. And he was older, now, softer perhaps, too aware of what damages could be done. And Morse was...Morse. 

“Well, and I’ve still got to work with you after this, haven’t I?” Thursday defended himself. “Naturally one would take a bit more care, knowing that. Go and get dressed. I’ve got to have this place spit-spot again before Davis’s shift ends. Poor bastard. I hope they don’t tell him. We’ll want to use the flat again.”

Morse’s eyebrows shot up.

“For _surveillance_ ,” Thursday said patiently. “Look sharp, now. And...mind how you go.”


	2. Precautionary Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to work, post-mating. Not quite back to normal.

Word had already made its way around Cowley by the time Morse and Sieglinde returned to the station, two days after the mating. Morse had expected no less, and was steeled for it. He’d had plenty of practise at ignoring half-heard sneers, and had learned how to cut down the more direct sort of insults with a few sharp words. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be bothered.

The quiet in the room when he sat down at his desk was unnerving, though. As was the way the quiet intensified when Thursday leaned out from his office to address him. “Ah, Morse. Welcome back. A word, please, before you settle in?” One of the newer constables sniggered, but at least three voices shushed him instantly.

“What was that about?” Morse demanded, shutting Thursday’s office door behind him. “You haven’t warned them off me, have you? I can fight my own battles, thanks very much.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Thursday said. “No, I never said word one, I promise you. I can’t speak for what Ares may have communicated to their brothers, however. He can be a bit possessive, I’m afraid.”

Ares ambled over to Morse and walked directly under his hand, making it more or less impossible not to give his ears a fondle--and it wasn’t as if Morse wasn’t a bit grateful, he admitted grudgingly, on his sister’s behalf if not his own.

“Has the vet seen to her yet?” Thursday asked, nodding at Sieglinde, who was sitting attentively by the door.

“First thing this morning, sir. She’s perfectly fit. Too soon to tell if she’s, er...in the family way, of course, but they gave me a list of signs to watch for, and I’m to bring her back to see them in a few weeks.”

“Good. Good.” Thursday shifted some papers around on his desk. He’d been avoiding eye contact ever since Morse came into the room, Morse realised, and wondered with a sinking feeling if things were going to turn awkward between them after all. “The thing is, though. I'm afraid you’re being reassigned to light duties for the time being. As a precautionary measure. You understand.”

Morse gaped; he couldn't help it. “But that’s completely unnecessary. Even if she is, it's early days--”

“All the more reason,” Thursday suggested. “You wouldn't want to take any chances at this stage. I know it's dull for you, but think of your sister. Supposing she were to get into anything rough?”

“That's highly unlikely and easily avoidable, and you know it.” Morse felt himself heating up. “And even if it weren’t. She’s not delicate. She’s a _wolf._ Who's this coming from? Bright? I want to talk to him.”

“ _Chief Superintendent_ Bright and I are in agreement here,” Thursday said, still calmly, but with a bit of steel in his tone now. “It’s a well-established policy, and it exists for a reason. I'm sorry, Detective Constable, but no one’s going to budge on this. It's not worth the risk. And you do have a knack for getting yourself over your head in cases that seem perfectly cut and dried at the outset.” 

“I can’t believe I'm hearing this! Of all the prejudiced, medieval, hidebound attitudes--” A soft growl cut off Morse’s outburst, and he glanced down to find that Ares’ teeth were set in his sleeve. Sieglinde remained at her post by the door, looking from one to the other of them, her ears laid back in confusion.

“Lower your voice,” Thursday snapped out, then, “Morse. I'm in a precarious position here. Think about it. If I were to be seen as showing anything like favouritism to you, now? One or the other of us will be transferred out of here so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

“They wouldn't,” Morse said uncertainly.

“Wouldn't they? I'm surprised they haven't already.” Thursday sighed. “For now, at any rate, we’re both to remain at Cowley. Bright wants those pups. Keep your head down--not too far down, mind you--and we’ll see.”

“Sir,” Morse said helplessly, but he was right; it wasn't worth the risk. He squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

“Good man. We’ll weather it. Your current caseload will go to Jakes, but before you give him the run-down, you’re to report to the medical officer for a once-over.”

“What? No, I refused medical treatment,” Morse said, ready to stand his ground on this one. “You heard me. Br-- Chief Superintendent Bright heard me.”

“You refused emergency medical treatment at the scene, yes. But it's a requirement for you to have a checkup on record before you're cleared to work again--medieval, hidebound policy or no. I’m sorry, Morse. I know you had the one unfortunate experience. You’re permitted by law to have a witness with you at the examination, though. I’m afraid it wouldn’t be cricket for me to be in attendance, but one of the other constables would agree to it if you asked, I’m sure--P.C. Strange, perhaps?”

“Christ, no.” Morse shuddered. “That is--thank you, sir, it’s fine, I don’t require a witness.”

“Your prerogative. But if anyone lays an untoward hand on you, mind, I want to know about it. What was the name of the bloke who gave you such rough treatment when you signed on, by the way? Just out of curiosity.”

“I’ve forgotten,” Morse lied. “What was that about keeping your head down, sir?”

Thursday gave him a look. “That will be all, Detective Constable. Go on now. You’re dismissed.”

And he called Ares possessive. Morse squared his shoulders again and stepped back out to face the uncanny silence of a roomful of determinedly disinterested constables and officers. 

*

The examination was brisk, thorough, and thoroughly humiliating. Morse told himself it wouldn’t be any worse than the mating itself had been, surely, and even if it were, he had a responsibility to keep his sister from becoming alarmed--she was puzzled enough by all the recent turns of events as it was. 

_We’ll discuss it all in a bit,_ Morse promised her. _I’m fine. It’s only a formality--same as when they checked you over earlier. Go out to the outdoor run and wait there, why don’t you?_

 _Everyone’s behaving oddly today,_ Sieglinde complained. _No one wants to play. I don’t understand it._ Unlike Morse, Sieglinde had always been wildly popular with her peers at Cowley. He didn’t have the heart to explain it to her. He wished he could have brought her in as his witness, but the NO WOLVES ALLOWED PAST THIS POINT sign on the infirmary door was quite clear--and someone had even pencilled in UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES in even bolder print beneath it and underlined the word ANY several times, just in case. Morse had always idly wondered just how many medical examiners had been bitten by frightened wolfbrothers in order to occasion it.

 _Then take a nap,_ Morse advised. _I’ll only be five minutes in here._

“Your heart rate’s quite rapid,” the medic observed, listening to his chest. “Rough mating, was it?”

“Not at all,” Morse said. “I mean...not that I’ve anything to compare it with, but...no, I don’t think so.” He tried to will his pulse to slow down, and managed to calm himself for a few moments by closing his eyes and imagining that the hands on him were Thursday’s instead, warm and soothing. That time, after-- He’d pretended to be asleep, too overwhelmed, but he’d never in his life, he thought, been touched so gently or with such care.

“Really _very_ rapid,” the medic said, sounding concerned. “There’s not a mark on you, that’s true, but sometimes there can be internal damage that doesn’t show up right away. Lie back and let me have a prod at your abdomen.”

Morse sighed, but complied. _Ten minutes perhaps,_ he told his sister, and could hear her answering sigh even through the door.

*

He spent the entire day longing for the solitude of his flat and a stiff glass or three of oblivion, but that was worse; at home there was nothing to distract from his own thoughts or from Sieglinde’s anxious prodding, worse than the doctor’s. At last, after a heavy meal and a good brushing, she fell asleep by the heater, leaving him to his own devices.

He tried a crossword, but his pencil stilled after the first few rapid easy clues, and his mind drifted back to the inevitable memory of Thursday’s hands on his body. Thursday’s low baritone in his ear, talking him through it. Thursday’s fingertips brushing his nipples, discovering their sensitivity, working at them softly to distract him from the pain of penetration.

Fuck, he was hard again. He hadn’t expected this. Ever. Thursday was his boss, his friend, he didn’t feel _that way_ about him--ludicrous. It was hormones. It was shock. It would pass.

He palmed himself through his trousers and shut his eyes, trying to think about the last girl he’d been with. _Go and be with your girlfriend, if you can,_ Thursday had advised him before they’d left Davis’s flat. _It’ll help. This doesn’t mean anything; it’s part of the job, you know. Something else to leave by the door._

But it was an awfully large thing to leave by the door, and he didn’t have a girl just now. He was unbuckling his belt and getting ready to give in to another tormented wank when the telephone rang.

“Thursday here,” said the voice on the line. Of course.

“Yes, sir,” Morse answered, rapidly re-buckling his belt and tucking in his shirt. “What’s going on?”

“Just checking in, mainly. I didn’t see you in the afternoon--got called out. Everything all right?”

“Fine, yes,” said Morse. “Nothing untoward. I’m cleared for light duties.” He didn’t really try to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Well, about that,” Thursday said. “Even if there’s no way around it, there’s nothing to prevent me from consulting with you on the down-low after hours. This case that came in today, for example--it’s a puzzler right off. I’d like to know what you’d make of it. You could come round now, if you’re up for it.”

“To your house?”

“Why not? Win’s been after me to bring you by again. I had the devil of a time trying to convince her not to show up at your door with restoratives and biscuits after the other night.”

Morse felt his stomach go cold. “She knows, then.”

Silence at the other end of the line. “Well, naturally,” Thursday said, his tone cautious and odd. “Morse--”

Sam and Joan, too, more than likely, Morse thought. Naturally. Or if they didn’t know yet, they’d be able to do the math if there were pups. But it was all just part of the job, so why not?

“I’d rather not, thanks,” he told Thursday. 

“No? Then we could meet at the pub, if you feel awkward about it, of course.”

“I’d rather not consult at all, that is. You don’t need to throw me a sop. I’m fine.”

“It’s not like that.” Thursday sounded aggrieved. “I rely on you, Morse. You know that.”

Morse looked over at the sleeping Sieglinde. Cleverest thing on four legs, and the handsomest, too--there wasn’t a wolf he’d ever met who was a patch on her. He’d never for a second wanted to trade her for anything, but he’d never wished more than now that she was a brother and not a sister. 

He’d have to be very careful not to think that when she was awake.

“Think it over, anyway,” Thursday insisted. “The offer stands.”

“All right,” Morse said. “I’ll keep it in mind. Is that all, sir?” He could hear how stiff he sounded, and hated himself for it; he should take Thursday up on his kindness, probably, if only to prove it didn’t matter to him one way or the other--and yet he didn’t want to let the man off the hook, either; he couldn’t expect to have it both ways.

“That’s all, yes. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, no doubt. Get some rest, all right? You sound tired.”

Morse hung up the phone and held himself still for a few moments, eyes shut, until he was no longer in danger of throwing the glass in his hand across the room. Instead he carried it over to the bottle on the table and refilled it, drank deeply, and refilled it again. Still, he wasn’t able to sleep that night without letting his hands roam restlessly over his body, imagining broader, stronger hands capably touching him in the same places. 

Sieglinde would go into heat again at some point, it occurred to him suddenly, and the thought was a stab of bright hope that he couldn’t quite manage to squash down, wrong as it was.


End file.
